Snakeskin
by Frank Hunter
Summary: McDonell Miller's deliberation about whether or not to help at Shadow Moses. One-shot. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


**Snakeskin**  
By, Frank Hunter

A knock on the door brought McDonell Miller to his feet. Reorganizing the briefing files he'd just been reading over, he set them back on the table so that only the cover was visible. _FOX-HOUND Status Report_, it read. _Shadow Moses Island. Classified Information_.

Miller made his way over to his front hall. So many visitors in so short a time worried him. Typically, Alaska offered isolation and solitude. He was lucky to receive one knock on that door a month, and even then it would be some fundraiser or philanthropist who needed his money. This was two knocks in one day.

The first visitor had been unexpected enough. Miller hadn't seen Roy Campbell in years before he turned up at the door that morning. The visit was all he could have expected from an old FOX-HOUND colleague. Emergency situation. Classified information. World in danger. They wouldn't have bothered finding him for anything less.

Even now, he hadn't completely made it through the briefing file that Campbell had brought with him. He wasn't even sure he was really willing to help with the situation. He was retired after all. It wasn't his responsibility to deal with nuclear threats or to neutralize terrorists. _Though if they do manage to find Solid Snake_, he thought, _I might be obligated to_.

_Zanzibar Land_. They all had been through that catastrophe together six years ago. If Snake returned for this Shadow Moses incident, perhaps it was a sign that Miller should help him through it. Solid Snake was like a son to him. His greatest pupil, and one of the most promising soldiers he'd ever had the privilege of meeting in his career as a drill instructor. Lord knows his help wouldn't hurt.

Reaching the door, Miller swore inwardly. He should have brought his pistol from the hiding spot in the kitchen. The situation being what it was, God only knows who would be seeking him out next. Against his better judgment he slid the peephole open and looked out at the greatest surprise he could never have anticipated.

"…Snake?" he asked, looking at the familiar face. His visitor smirked. "Hello, Master."

Miller slammed the peephole and opened the door, hardly believing what he was seeing. Looking at the man's full body there could be no doubt though. He had grown his hair, but there was no mistaking that face. The second visitor of the day was Solid Snake.

"Campbell told me they were looking for you this morning."

"He found me."

"Then why are you here?"

"I just wanted to talk to you before I went in." Snake's eye contact was unwavering and that smirk was still there. "It's always done wonders for my confidence."

"Uh huh…" Miller released his grip on the door and took a step back. "Well come inside then. Let's talk."

The two made their way inside to the sitting area Miller had been using before Snake's interruption. They sat down across from each other and Snake's eyes drifted to the briefing file on the table. "You've read that?" he asked, nodding to it.

"Not entirely." Miller flipped open to where he'd left a placeholder in the stack of documents. Glaring up from the page was the image of a senior FOX-HOUND operative, Revolver Ocelot. "I can't believe _he_ involved himself in this. He always seemed so loyal."

"Loyal to his unit or the government? They're two different things now."

"That might be so, but I'd consider terrorist behavior like this to be a serious act of treason, wouldn't you?"

Snake seemed to consider for a second, before shaking his head. "It doesn't really matter. All of FOX-HOUND are enemies of the state now. They need to be taken care of."

"That they do."

"And are you going to help do that?"

Master Miller sat quietly for a second, looking down at the picture of Ocelot, before getting up to look out the window. He was ducking the question.

"Your voice sounds very strained, Snake."

Snake laughed at this. "Too much time around the damn Canadians and you start to pick up the accent. I've been trying not to. The smoking doesn't help either…"

Miller nodded, eyes still fixed on the window. "Campbell mentioned that you were living up here too. Said that's why I would be an asset on this mission."

"He may have been right. You were a great help six years ago."

"Zanzibar Land…" Miller brooded, looking back at his visitor. "Have we really not spoken since then, Snake?"

"Forgive me. I've been keeping to myself a bit much I think."

"Well there's no crime against that, in Alaska, Canada or otherwise," Miller said. "But Zanzibar…I hadn't thought about that in a long time before today." A smile lit up his face and he approached Snake's side of the table. "You remember the two and a half hours you spent chasing that damned carrier pigeon through the jungle?" He laughed.

Snake also chuckled a bit in recollection. "Don't remind me. Would have been happy just to shoot the bloody thing and be done with it."

Miller shook his head and continued laughing. "And you and Norden were just yelling at each other over the radio trying to figure out how to convince it to come down!"

"I'm glad you can find the humor in these situations, Master."

Miller calmed down after a moment and stepped away. "I need a beer. Mind having one with me?"

"Sure," came the reply, and Miller made for his kitchen. "I don't have long though, you know. Campbell wants me back to prep for infiltration."

"No, no, of course not. Just a few minutes with an old war buddy, Snake." Master returned into his sitting room in a moment with two beer bottles, caps already opened. He placed them down on the table and Snake could see that it was a pretty good Canadian brand. Master just stood there for a moment.

Picking up his bottle, Snake glanced up at Miller. "You didn't answer me before, Master. Are you going to get involved with this mission or not?" The questions asked, Snake leaned back and took a big swig of his beer.

"Looks like I already am," he responded.

Looking back at his host, Snake now found himself staring straight down the barrel of a Desert Eagle. He stood up and Miller took a quick step backward. "Don't move!" he yelled, and Snake just stood beside his chair.

"Master, I don't understand. It's me, Sn…"

"NO! You are NOT Solid Snake!"

With a dumbstruck look Snake tried to find his words. "Master…"

"I've been onto you the whole time. Campbell told me that once he found Snake, he'd be brought in for immediate briefing and infiltration. He would never have allowed you out of his sight again, unless you outright refused. If that were the case, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

The man began to step away from the table, but Miller kept a safe distance between them, matching steps. A loud click followed as he snapped the hammer on his Desert Eagle back.

"That accent that you're so diligently trying to hide is distinctly British, not Canadian. There's no way you could have picked that up spending six years in a hole in Alaska."

The two were circling the room now, dodging furniture but moving slowly. "But Master Miller," the man said, laughing lightly. "I can explain that. Let's just sit down…"

"Lastly, "Miller said, unblinkingly, "Solid Snake never chased a pigeon through the jungle in Zanzibar Land. He had the bird cornered on a rooftop. Yozef Norden suggested that he use a combat ration to lure it down and he did just that. The entire process took a total of five minutes."

_Damn_, the impostor thought to himself, understanding he'd been found out. _The old fool is smarter than I thought_.

"All of this convinces me beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are not Solid Snake. It also begs the question, who are you?"

Dropping the entire façade the man pinned Miller with his gaze. He slipped entirely into the British accent that he'd been so obviously trying to hide. "You should have just stayed out of this. You have no right to stand in the way of Outer Heaven."

"Outer Heaven? Is that what you're calling it? They tried that before. What makes you think it'll work this time?"

"Fate. Nothing can stand in our way."

"I'm in your way. And you have no way of stopping _me_."

The impostor could tell Miller was almost ready to fire. He had his own weapon tucked away, around his back, but any motion to get it he knew would be the end for him. Miller was too sharp. He prayed for a distraction.

And then the telephone rang.

It was a small distraction, but it took Miller's attention long enough for the impostor to take advantage. He'd always been good at the FOX-HOUND martial art system, aptly named CQC. In the instant Miller looked over at the ringing telephone, the man closed the distance between them and grabbed the barrel of the Desert Eagle, pointing it away from him. In a fluid motion, he took control of the gun, forcing the old drill instructor down to the floor.

_Ring_.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked, one more time. "You _aren't _Solid Snake. You can't be…"

_Ring_.

"Maybe not," the man replied. "But I am the only Snake that matters." With that, he pulled the trigger on the Desert Eagle. He pulled it five times.

_Ring_.

Master Miller was dead on the floor of his own sitting room, and his killer tucked the Desert Eagle away into his belt listening as the call went to voice mail.

"Master Miller, this is Roy Campbell. We found Snake, and he's agreed to take on the mission. I need to know if you will support us. I'll call back in an hour, or you can contact me with the radio I left you. The frequency is 140.85."

The man ignored the body on the floor for a second and stepped back to the table where they had been sitting, committing the frequency number to memory. Taking another drink of his beer, he turned the page in the briefing file that Campbell had given to Miller. The picture and biographical information on the next page was his own.

He skimmed it all. Impressive military record throughout the Middle East. P.O.W. standing. Stint with FOX-HOUND. All of this was listed next to the photograph and under the code name "Liquid Snake."

_Damn_, Liquid thought to himself. _If he had gotten one page further he probably would have killed me on the spot_.

If Ocelot hadn't screwed up with the DARPA Chief, he could have sent Octopus on this assignment and remained at base. It would have been that much more clean and convincing. As it stands this was probably more dangerous than it was worth.

_But the ends do justify the means_, Liquid reminded himself. With Miller out of the picture, he'd be able to manipulate Snake from a position his brother would never anticipate. _If I can just get the damn accent right this time_.

Liquid flipped through the brief a bit further and found what he really needed to know: the infiltration method. It looked like it was going to be an underwater insertion through the docks on Shadow Moses Island. _Well that's original_, he thought.

He closed and took the brief, stepping over the body to the table with the telephone on it. He found what he assumed to be the earpiece Campbell had mentioned in his call. Looking at it briefly he determined its frequency to be at 141.80. He'd leave it at that. Snake would probably be familiar with it.

Also next to the phone was a pair of dark sunglasses. _If I'm going to act the part, I should at least look it_. Liquid took the glasses as well.

Before stepping out, he closed the blinds and locked the door, leaving the body of McDonell Miller in a heap on the floor. He doubted anyone would come looking, especially if he kept Campbell going long enough with his ruse. He'd call as soon as he got back to the chopper.

And it was time to get moving. The Hind was two miles out in the middle of a snowfield. By the time he got back to base, Ocelot would be done interrogating Baker and they'd at least have one password. With any luck Campbell would give Snake the other one in the hopes that he'd be able to turn off Metal Gear.

So much to do, but only a few more hours until Outer Heaven. And nothing would get in the way this time.


End file.
